


progression

by windingwoods



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fruits Basket au, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwoods/pseuds/windingwoods
Summary: The realization had made him ache somewhere deep with the wish he'd known this earlier, back when he would take everything Hubert said to him as cruel, deliberate provocation. Instead he'd taken the winding path, making a fuss out of everything until the day he'd sat with the cool metal of a tea box cradled in his hands and the feeling of having walked for a long, long time.





	progression

**Author's Note:**

> writing this thing was so HARROWING that at multiple points i was literally staring off into space listening to soundtracks to random games i've never even played. in the end i wrangled it into some semblance of decency thanks to some great, thoughtful friends. <3  
anyway enjoy!!! it's out now!!!

“This was a terrible idea, my dear,” Ferdinand whispers. “This was quite literally, among all the ideas any of us has ever had, the worst.” 

Next to him, Dorothea seems to grow more and more amused by the minute. “Even worse than that?” she asks, pointing at the TV screen where old footage of all their most embarrassing childhood moments has been playing for the past half an hour. Ferdinand watches with horror as a ten-year-old Edelgard bursts into tears after having been handed a dagger by an equally tiny Dimitri. 

“Okay, that’s mortifying,” he says. On the TV Ladislava rushes to take the dagger away, looking like a fish out of the water with two crying children clinging to her legs. 

“A small price to pay for Edie’s happiness, then.” Ferdinand follows Dorothea’s gaze to where twenty-two-year-old Edelgard is sitting on a floor pillow with as much poise as someone wearing two birthday hats on top of each other could ever muster. Her lips are curved in a quiet, private smile. 

“... I suppose,” he concedes. Then, because he should have known better than to let his guard down when the Snake’s involved no matter how sweet Dorothea herself may be, the scenario on the TV changes to show a young Ferdinand arguing with an only slightly older, but already much taller, Hubert. Back then something like that was far from being a rare occurrence, but there’s a little stutter in the rhythm of Ferdinand’s heart when he notices the pea coat Hubert’s wearing in the video.

It had probably started with some trivial remark: he didn’t like how his arch nemesis had shot up in height while he was still stuck with his short legs, round face, higher voice. Because he didn’t like it, he mouthed off, not seeing the way Hubert’s fingers pressed softly in the spaces between his ribs sometimes, much like Ferdinand’s own when he felt like he couldn’t even draw in a proper breath. 

Whatever the spark might have been, the argument had ended with him abandoning any semblance of common sense and storming off into the forest surrounding the main estate like the brat people kept telling him he was. Too upset to check where he was going he had wandered much further in than the usual, only to end up utterly, undoubtedly lost. Hubert had been the one to find him, hours later, curled up in his tiger form and tired to the bone. Ferdinand’s own memories are foggy, spotty in places as he kept drifting in and out of consciousness, but amidst the tiredness he remembers warm, hesitant hands wrapping his bare skin in a pitch black pea coat. 

***

His tea today is a pleasant shade of orange, dark and almost muddy where stray dregs have settled at the bottom of the cup. He can smell cinnamon, plus something citrusy he can’t yet identify. 

“Lady Edelgard was gracious enough to let me borrow her imported brown sugar to sweeten it,” Hubert says with an air of great importance and the only thing that stops Ferdinand from snorting at that is the fact that he begged Edelgard for some of her fancy whiskey to put into Hubert’s coffee just last month. He’s starting to think the three of them maybe take their tastes a bit too seriously, but he can’t deny there’s a certain kind of fun in it. Especially when it nets him an exasperated glare from Dorothea.

“I can’t believe you went from looking at me as if I’d sprouted a second head whenever I dared to put anything in my tea to using Edelgard’s precious brown sugar for my sake,” Ferdinand muses out loud. Because he’s feeling self-indulgent, he hides a fond smile behind the teacup. “Cats truly do care, after all.”

Hubert sits a little straighter, taking a sip of his espresso. “I see it more as having chosen a strategic withdrawal in the face of your stubbornness, but I’m glad the result is of your liking.”

They sit in silence for a while, the companionable kind they’ve spent years honing together with their favorite drinks as a convenient excuse. It's not that they don't seek out each other's company when they're not having one of their breaks. They're often attached at the hip, as the less tactful of their friends love to point out, but there's a script to this routine of theirs that's soothing. On days such as this, Ferdinand feels as if he could give voice to the most gnarled parts of him, bitten and clawed at by the Tiger, and the world wouldn't split in two beneath his feet. 

“Her birthday always makes me feel a little wistful,” he says, concentrating on the sounds of the cicadas outside. 

When Hubert just looks at him quizzically, he takes a big gulp of tea. His own liquid courage, he figures. “Well, you see, Mercedes always talks about how special it was when Edelgard came into our world, and all the dreams she had about her voice, or her smell... While I was so young the only thing I know is that I kept my poor mother awake all night crying my lungs out! It’s a little unfair, if you ask me.” 

“Wasn’t asking,” Hubert retorts, but it’s in that softer tone of his that implies he means no harm. Ferdinand has found out at some point of their friendship that he simply has trouble keeping his irony to himself at times. The realization had made him ache somewhere deep with the wish he'd known this earlier, back when he would take everything Hubert said to him as cruel, deliberate provocation. Instead he'd taken the winding path, making a fuss out of everything until the day he'd sat with the cool metal of a tea box cradled in his hands and the feeling of having walked for a long, long time. 

After a beat, Hubert continues. “I’m afraid I’m not the best person to talk with about this, considering my own memories of Lady Edelgard’s birth are… muddy. Abstract, at best, like a postmodern painting.”

The word choice gets a smile out of Ferdinand. “Ah, you love you some postmodernism.” 

Judging by the disgusted look Hubert’s giving him now he must have messed up somewhere in there. Strange, considering he’s merely parroting a figure of speech he could swear he’s heard Caspar say. While he’s busy trying to recall the exact words, Hubert’s expression shifts from disgusted to pained in the infuriating, quiet way of his, like a bundle of clouds covering up the sun on a windy day. Ferdinand files away his linguistic conundrum for another moment. 

“Are you feeling alright, _ mon frère_?” he asks. 

It’s a sign that something must be terribly wrong with Hubert when he doesn’t comment on how random French words don’t sound as impressive as Ferdinand thinks they do. Instead he says, “If you ask me, everything’s the way it’s intended to be. She, on the other hand, would rather I had no memories of that day at all.” 

Ferdinand’s about to ask him what does he mean by that, but the clink of the coffee cup hitting the plate cuts him off with the finality of a slammed door. “If you’ll excuse me,” Hubert mumbles, not meeting his eyes, and Ferdinand just watches as he gets up, pushes in his chair and disappears from the room without uttering another sound. 

***

There’s an odd contrast between the familiar sounds of the main estate and the dread roiling at the bottom of Ferdinand’s stomach. Outside the door he can hear voices talking about where to hang the laundry, while his ears still ring with what Edelgard’s just told him.

“He’s gone… missing?” He must sound and look terribly silly to her right now, but being the type of person who could accept her words at face value and move on with no heavy heart wouldn’t sit well with him. “Are you sure he’s not off skulking like a broody stray because Claude beat him at Magic again? That’s his favorite coping mechanism.”

Edelgard hides the hint of a smile behind her hands, but Ferdinand can sense something weighing her down in the slumped tilt of her shoulders. So he waits, with the patience he wishes he’d had as a kid, until she says, “Can I ask you a question?”

“With that face as if you’ve just downed one of Linhard’s concoctions? Why, you simply must.”

“I always strive to appreciate Linhard’s scientific endeavors,” Edelgard says primly. Ferdinand thinks he can count the way she straightens her back as a personal victory. “But, um, thank you. For lending me your ear.”

He hums in agreement, wishing he had tea to sip to fill the stretches of silence between them. As usual, the moment he’s finished formulating the thought she surpasses him. 

“As much as I wish I didn’t, I hold in me the soul of a divine being, and you the souls of their companions. We were brought together by circumstances bigger than us, but even so…” She pauses, wringing her hands. “Do you think that our bonds as people are less genuine for it?” 

Once, back when Ferdinand was young and frustrated and aching to break free from his father, from all the people at the main estate who only saw him and the others through the lens of their zodiacs, a question like that would’ve given him pause. He might have objected, but he would’ve stopped to consider it first. Now he doesn’t need to. 

“Not in the slightest,” he says. “I’m confident in my own judgment and my own will, as is everyone else here. Aren’t you as well?”

Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, Edelgard groans. “For once I couldn’t agree more. It’s just…” She trails off, as if unsure of what to say next. There’s this thing Ferdinand’s always admired about her, how she never fails to assess the weight of her words. She thinks, and sifts, until she picks what she wanted to say from the river bed of her thoughts. It must be tiring, though, to never say anything less shiny than nuggets of gold, which is why he can’t leave her floundering. 

“Does this have anything to do with our dear Hubert’s disappearance?” he asks, hoping he’s being even half as thoughtful as she would be in his place. 

Slowly, she raises her head again, until she can meet his eyes. Ferdinand watches as she worries her lower lip for a moment, then she catches herself and the moment’s gone, leaving only a frowning yet unshakable Edelgard von Hresvelg in its wake. “Yes,” she says, “but it’s not my place to tell you any more than that.”

Dread and anticipation both run down Ferdinand’s spine as he gets up. He barely registers his movements as he makes his way to the door, walking with the purpose of a wind-up toy in the hands of an enthusiastic child. _ Being simple has its perks_, his mother used to tell him, _ you don’t get bogged down with the small stuff_. 

“Guess I’ll have to find him and ask him myself.”

***

Were he feeling less slighted, Ferdinand would appreciate the irony of the situation. The way things are now, though, he’s content with staring daggers at his own foot. 

His search had started off pretty smoothly: cats being habitudinary creatures, he already had a list of places he could look into for traces of Hubert’s passage. Edelgard herself had suggested the forest as a good starting place, even giving Ferdinand directions to an abandoned hut Hubert had apparently claimed as his base of operations years ago, and everything had been going fine. 

That is, up until Ferdinand had put his foot wrong while hurrying down a gully. The pain had been immediate, shooting up his leg and into his brain as he crumpled to the ground with a muffled cry. For a moment he’d thought he was going delusional, as an image of a younger Hubert appeared in front of him to mock him about the sorry state he was in. 

“What, the mighty Tiger didn’t think of wearing the proper boots to go on his little hike?” Younger Hubert had said. 

“Oh, shut up,” Ferdinand had answered. Then he had blinked, once, twice, and the apparition was gone. In its place was the real Hubert, standing on top of the gully with an utterly bewildered expression, staring down at Ferdinand as if he was having a hard time coming to terms with object permanence. Or people permanence, in this case.

The sky had chosen that moment to break above their heads with the violence of the first late summer storm. 

“You know, a gracious host would answer me when I’m trying to speak to them,” Ferdinand says now. He’s sitting on a bed that takes up a good third of Hubert’s secret hut, which does exist. Who could’ve thought. 

Hubert himself has just finished wrapping Ferdinand’s ankle in bandages, as unnecessary as that is, and seems to be too busy rummaging through a drawer to make small talk about the fact that he disappeared without a word. He turns back with a towel in his arms and drapes it over Ferdinand’s head, rubbing hard. 

“You’re sopping wet,” is the only explanation he offers, which makes Ferdinand squawk.

“You’re as well! Unhand me and take care of— yourself!” 

There’s a brief scuffle for the towel, which ends in Ferdinand snatching it from Hubert’s hands with a triumphant cry, only to realize he’d have to get up and put weight on his still quite sore foot to reach his goal. He stares at the towel in reproach, refusing to just give it back to its rightful owner, until the bed dips underneath the weight of someone sitting down by his side. 

“If you _ must_,” Hubert spits out. Ferdinand watches him for a moment, entranced, taking in the smell of the soil, the creaking of the old wood, the pink of Hubert’s ears. Then, slowly, painstakingly, he brings the towel to his head. 

Gentleness has never been his forte, but he tries to be delicate as he starts patting down Hubert’s hair. He musses it a bit in the process, smiling when he hears a huff of protest, and he bites down a comment on how his own hair must look far messier right now as he slides his palms along Hubert’s cheeks. “You don’t want to talk about it?” he whispers.

It’s then that the world seems to slow to a crawl around him. The pair of cat-like eyes he’s learnt to decipher after years of painful, stubborn perseverance look down at him and something inside of Ferdinand jams, leaving him stunned as Hubert brings a hand to his wrist and hooks his thumb under the bracelet. 

Ferdinand has only seen the Cat’s true form once, as a child. Lord Arundel had ripped the bracelet from Hubert with the kind of violence that had made Ferdinand flinch. Now, the beads roll off and onto the floor with a quiet thud, and nothing happens. 

“What…” Ferdinand’s voice sounds weak even to himself, unsure as the still very human head underneath his hands hangs in defeat. The towel falls on the space between the two of them when he drops it, but he leaves it there, brushing a strand of hair from Hubert’s forehead. “Did she do it?”

Suddenly Edelgard’s words click together in his mind. The question she asked him, the hesitation, the worry. Understanding it doesn’t mean it has to sit well with him, though. 

“I thought you of all people would be happy that she’s finally found a way to break the curse.” His voice is low, but it still sounds too loud with only the pitter-patter of the rain. Too boorish. “Wasn’t it what you both wanted?” 

Hubert’s lips curl into a grimace. “When we were little,” he says, barely audible, “Lady Edelgard was the only one who saw me as a person. She’s still the only reason why I wasn’t locked into a chamber for the rest of my days.”

There are many things Ferdinand could say to that. He could trample all over the smidge of heart Hubert’s showing him, asking him if he feels as if Edelgard’s throwing him away now that she’s found a way to break their curses, or he could cobble together some platitudes that would just get washed out by the storm outside. Instead, he takes Hubert’s hands in his.

He traces idle shapes on his open palm with his thumb as he speaks. “I think… losing the Tiger will be sad. For me. But I know she’ll finally go to sleep after all this time, and I know her absence won’t just magically erase all the hard work I’ve put into becoming friends with some of you slippery jerkwads because, zodiac or not, we’re all still humans first.” The hand in his gives the faintest hint of a shake and Ferdinand smiles. “Who do you think told me you’ve got your own personal hut in the woods?”

Hubert seems to be caught in between wanting to scream and wanting to laugh, so Ferdinand sags in relief when all he does is sigh. 

“Of course you would say that,” Hubert murmurs, and there’s a soft lull to the words as he lets his head drop on top of Ferdinand’s shoulder. His hands are rough and his breath tickles, but it’s so warm Ferdinand feels as if it could melt him when Hubert’s mouth brushes his collarbone. 

“If it’s time you need, I’ll give it to you,” he says. “But if you want me to, I’ll stay.” 

The fingers wrapping around his his own are enough of an answer, he figures. The rest will come later. 


End file.
